Peto. Why, he hacked it with his dagger, and said

he would swear truth out of England but he
would make you believe it was done in fight,
and persuaded us to do the like.

Bard. Yea, and to tickle our noses with spear-grass 340
to make them bleed, and then to beslubber our
garments with it and swear it was the blood of
true men. I did that I did not this seven year
before, I blushed to hear his monstrous devices.
Prince. O villain, thou stolest a cup of sack eighteen

years ago, and wert taken with the manner,
and ever since thou hast blushed extempore.
Thou hadst fire and sword on thy side, and
yet thou rannest away: what instinct hadst
thou for it?

Bard. My lord, do you see these meteors? do you
behold these exhalations?

Prince. I do.

Bard. What think you they portend?

Prince. Hot livers and cold purses.

Bard. Choler, my lord, if rightly taken.
Prince. No, if rightly taken, halter.

Re-enter Falstaff.

Here comes lean Jack, here comes bare-bone.
How now, my sweet creature of bombast!

350

How long is 't ago, Jack, since thou sawest 360 thine own knee?

Fal. My own knee! when I was about thy years, Hal, I was not an eagle's talon in the waist; I could have crept into any alderman's thumbring a plague of sighing and grief! it blows a man up like a bladder. There's villanous news abroad: here was Sir John Bracy from your father r; you must to the court in the morning. That same mad fellow of the north, Percy, and he of Wales, that gave Amamon the bastin- 370 ado, and made Lucifer cuckold, and swore the devil his true liegeman upon the cross of a Welsh hook-what a plague call you him?

Poins. O, Glendower.

Fal. Owen, Owen, the same; and his son-in-law

Mortimer, and old Northumberland, and that

sprightly Scot of Scots, Douglas, that runs o'
horseback up a hill perpendicular,-

Prince. He that rides at high speed and with his
pistol kills a sparrow flying.

Fal. You have hit it.

Prince. So did he never the sparrow.

Fal. Well, that rascal hath good mettle in him; he

will not run.

380

Prince. Why, what a rascal art thou then, to praise him so for running!

Fal. O' horseback, ye cuckoo ; but afoot he will not budge a foot.

Prince. Yes, Jack, upon instinct.

Fal. I grant ye, upon instinct. Well, he is there 390 too, and one Mordake, and a thousand bluecaps more: Worcester is stolen away tonight; thy father's beard is turned white with the news: you may buy land now as cheap as stinking mackerel.

Prince. Why, then, it is like, if there come a hot June and this civil buffeting hold, we shall buy maidenheads as they buy hob-nails, by the hundreds.

Fal. By the mass, lad, thou sayest true; it is like 400 we shall have good trading that way. But tell me, Hal, art not thou horrible afeard? thou being heir-apparent, could the world pick thee out three such enemies again as that fiend Douglas, that spirit Percy, and that devil Glendower? art thou not horribly afraid? doth not thy blood thrill at it?

Prince. Not a whit, i' faith; I lack some of thy instinct.

Fal. Well, thou wilt be horribly chid to-morrow 410 when thou comest to thy father: if thou love me, practise an answer.

Prince. Do thou stand for my father, and examine me upon the particulars of my life.

Fal. Shall I content: this chair shall be my state,

this dagger my sceptre, and this cushion my

crown.

Prince. Thy state is taken for a joined-stool, thy

golden sceptre for a leaden dagger, and thy precious rich crown for a pitiful bald crown! Fal. Well, an the fire of grace be not quite out of thee, now shalt thou be moved. Give me a cup of sack to make my eyes look red, that it may be thought I have wept; for I must speak in passion, and I will do it in King Cambyses' vein.

Prince. Well, here is my leg.

Fal. And here is my speech.

nobility.

420

Stand aside,

430

Host. O Jesu, this is excellent sport, i' faith!

Fal. Weep not, sweet queen; for trickling tears are vain. Host. O, the father, how he holds his counte

nance!

Fal. For God's sake, lords, convey my tristful queen;

For tears do stop the flood-gates of her eyes. Host. O Jesu, he doth it as like one of these

harlotry players as ever I see!

Fal. Peace, good pint-pot; peace, good tickle-brain, a Harry, I do not only marvel where thou spendest thy time, but also how thou art accompanied: 440 for though the camomile, the more it is trodden on the faster it grows, yet youth, the more it is wasted the sooner it wears. That thou art my son, I have partly thy mother's word, partly my own opinion, but chiefly a villanous trick of thine eye, and a foolish hanging of thy nether lip, that doth warrant me. If then thou be son to me, here lies the point; why, being son to me, art thou so pointed at? Shall the blessed sun of heaven prove a micher and eat blackberries? a ques- 450 tion not to be asked. Shall the son of England prove a thief and take purses? a question to be asked. There is a thing, Harry, which thou hast often heard of, and it is known to many in our land by the name of pitch: this pitch, as ancient writers do report, doth defile; so doth the company thou keepest: for, Harry, now I do not speak to thee in drink but in tears, not in pleasure but in passion, not in words only, but in woes also: